After the Battle
by KaramelleTashiPops
Summary: Prompt #002 from tumblr user hpfanfictionprompts - A member of the Malfoy family in the Great hall after the final battle. Rated T for safety (upcoming chapters may include violence) though I don't think I will need it.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing that JK Rowling does, except possibly a toothbrush.

Lucius Malfoy sat in the Hogwarts Great Hall. It had been improvised into a triage centre, with long lines of the dead and wounded being cared for as quickly as possible. No one was being cured today, just patched up until they could be transported to St Mungos, no mean feat with the anti-apparition wards still in place and keyed to a living Headmistress.

Lucius himself had been spared anything more than minor injuries, the benefit of choosing a side that wouldn't force him to be a foot soldier. The problem being, he was on the wrong side, again. He had quickly defected after the Dark Lord fell, avoiding bodily injury, but now he faced worse peril – repeat incarceration and loss of fortune. He wasn't foolish enough to believe he might be spared, he had made no secret of his intentions and he had no doubt he would be questioned under veritaserum if he claimed to have been under imperius again. No, the real question was how far his punishment would extend.

At best he could expect heavy fines, at worst, life in Azkaban. He still had influence in the Ministry, and with the Minister coming out of his Imperiused stated there would be a few days of chaos. Chaos that Lucius could use to his advantage.

He turned to his son. Pitiful, snivelling child though he was, he had been useful to the Dark Lord and somehow managed to seem redeemable to the Golden Potter brat. And he was conveniently of age. Perhaps Lucius would make use of him as a means for securing the Malfoys' seat of power.

Five days later, Lucius Malfoy was escorted into the Chambers of the Wizengamot for a show trial. He looked up briefly as he was being pushed into the stone seat in the centre of the court. There, Draco was in the Malfoy hereditary seat. As long as the boy behaved and followed the plan, everything should go smoothly. He suppressed a shudder as magical chains wrapped his arms together with the cool stone – he could only hope his preparations had been enough.

"Lucius Malfoy" Head of DMLE Amelia Bones looked cool and composed as she stood at the front of the assembled Wizengamot, but Lucius could see a note of triumph in her eyes. "You stand accused of multiple accounts of accessory to murder, conspiracy to commit terrorism, destruction of property and aiding a known fugitive. How do you plead?"

Lucius knew this was as good as it was going to get. None of the listed crimes were enough to warrant a sealed Azkaban cell. He could expect heavy fines and a light prison sentence, and he had prepared for this. "I plead guilty, Madam Bones, but know I only did what I had to in order to protect my family. I feared that if I did not-"

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy, that will be sufficient. I would like to recommend a fine of ten per cent of the defendant's personal fortune, ten percent of the Malfoy family fortune, and eighteen months imprisonment in the Azkaban wizarding prison. Members of the Wizengamot, please raise your hands to indicate support for this sentence." Lucius watched as most of the hands in the Wizengamot seats were raised into the air. He slumped, a picture of defeat. Perfect, he thought, everything should go to plan.


	2. Chapter 2

"How could you let this happen?" Demanded an irate Amelia Bones. "You must have known what this meant."

The poor Ministry records clerk shuffled paperwork, looking at his desk in dismay. "I simply thought… The man knew he would be going to jail, it made sense he would want his family to be provided for."

Amelia rubbed her temples, sighing. That greasy git Malfoy. He must have come straight to the Ministry after the battle of Hogwarts to have the paperwork filed before he was remanded on bail and barred from doing business before the hearing. Typical. Slimy scheming pureblood bastard. He had transferred leadership of the Malfoy family to his son, along with the majority of his personal and family fortunes. The vaults had enough in them to stay open, and Amelia was sure that once all fines had been levied the family vault at least would be refilled, but for now all her harsh fines amounted to about a decent night out at the local. Since the younger Malfoy wasn't under suspicion and everything had been legal at the time… Sometimes Amelia wished for some of the more muggle elements of bureaucracy, legal wizarding documents being immediately verified and ratified by magic was sometimes extremely inconvenient.

The immediate concern was the new head of the Malfoy family. With a seat on the Wizengamot, a large personal fortune and the political influence of the Malfoy connections behind him, Amelia had to hope that either he had better convictions than his father, or that he would slip up so she could give him some convictions.

Lucius shivered as the shadow of Azkaban fell over his small boat. He wasn't sure if this method of transport was necessary due to the strict ward surrounding the wizarding prison or whether it was an intimidation tactic. If it was the latter, it was certainly effective. The wind over the North Sea was cold, but he knew that his chills were nothing to do with wind and everything to do with the swooping black shapes in the air around the tall and foreboding prison ahead of him. He remembered his last incarceration all too vividly and had hoped never to experience anything like that again.

The boat bumped roughly against a stone dock at the base of the island. Lucius' bonds tugged him forward fiercely and he stumbled trying to exit his boat. The enchanted cuffs pulled him through hallways and up and down stairs as if magnetised, with little regard for the lack of feeling in his legs and his minimal energy. Lucius had to remind himself that the ministry didn't really care whether he made it to his cell or not, and even less whether he survived the next eighteen months. He knew the survival rate for Azkaban prisoners dropped rapidly after a year within its walls.

After a few more minutes of blindly stumbling after the cuffs, they stopped pulling at his arms. Lucius blinked. He was now in a cell. The cuffs disintegrated and he turned to face the entrance, only to find it had disappeared. He was now in a solid dark cell, with only a small outcropping of rock from the wall breaking the stark emptiness of the space. Lucius sat on this 'bed' and tried to move the stiffness out of his joints, stifle the soreness of his shoulders from being pulled about. As the chill of the dementors set deeper into him, he gave up on the ache and settled into his cold and uncomfortable seat. Home, sweet home.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco was conflicted, to say the least. On the one hand, he hadn't agreed with the Dark Lord's methods and was glad that he was gone. On the other, he still believed in blood purity and the need to protect wizarding society from the corruption of mudbloods. Of course in the current social climate he had to bite his tongue on such matters. He had thought of a possible solution, but he wasn't sure how it would be received. He picked up quill and parchment, and began a letter.

Mr Potter

I am sure that you are aware that the conclusion of the war does not mean that all purebloods have turned from the old ways. It will be a long time before ideals have changed sufficiently that we will no longer be in danger of another war. To assist in bringing this about, I would like to suggest a new program that would aim to give British muggleborns a well-rounded view of wizarding society and the importance of the statute of secrecy before their admission to Hogwarts.

Under this new regime, I would see muggleborn witches and wizards gradually integrated into wizarding society from an early age. You may be aware that Hogwarts possesses a registry, wherein children are recorded as they show their first signs of magic. For many children this is at birth, though for the majority this will occur before the age of five years. I would first propose that this record be duplicated and monitored by the Ministry.

Further to this, I would suggest that muggle parents be advised as soon as their children display these signs. I understand muggles do not use owl post so this may need to be coordinated by someone with more knowledge of the muggle world. This will give muggle parents an idea of what to expect over the coming years, as I understand some muggles may be startled by the early appearance of accidental magic.

From the age of five, I would suggest that those who will be sharing a year group attend annual or semi-annual meetings with their parents to discuss the development of their magic and to learn basics of the wizarding world, such as writing with a quill, wizarding currency and the existence of several magical creatures.

I would also like to suggest an optional workshop in the week leading up to the students' first school term where students would become more comfortable with using their magic through simple exercises such as _Lumos_ and the use of broomsticks. During this week I would also suggest brief history lessons covering the history of Hogwarts and the major wizarding wars of the last century.

I feel as if these exercises will help to smooth over misunderstanding between houses and families and allow integration of new members into our society with minimal discomfort.

Please advise me of your opinions of this before I present these ideas to the Hogwarts Board of Governors, as your support will be invaluable in implementing this.

Regards,

Draco Malfoy

Draco smiled as he attached the letter to his owl's leg and watched it fly away. Potter would eat that up, accepting muggleborns into wizarding society from a young age. Once it passed through the board he would have influence on the content and structure. He could mould a whole generation's minds to his point of view. Who cared if that meant acknowledging that their parents were superior to other muggles by their ability to produce magical offspring. He could justify accepting a handful of muggles to make wizards great again and stop this muggle-loving nonsense dead in its tracks.

Lucius snarled, and watched as his copy of the Prophet burst into flames. How dare he? His son, his blood, he had taken the Malfoy name and dragged it through the mud. Letting muggles in, welcoming them? Less than a year and Lucius would be free. Then they would see about this muggle-loving nonsense. His son would shudder at the word 'Malfoy' when he was finished with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Harry Potter's word is a virtual playground owned by JK Rowling, I am playing on the monkey bars.

It had all been too easy. He had known Potter would eat up that tripe about muggleborns, he knew that Potter had felt excluded when he started at Hogwarts. He hadn't expected Potter to make an impassioned speech to the Hogwarts board in his favour. He certainly hadn't expected any amount of funding from the Potter vault. Of course he had to at least match that from his own vaults, but he had expected that. It was more than worth it for the eventual goal. Settle muggles who could breed magical children into wizarding communities, to be treated as infirm and incapable, teach their children that this was the right way, and once again separate the two societies completely. A whole new generation believing that magic is might and should be guarded along with wizarding traditions and beliefs.

It was time to go see his father and tell him the good news.

Lucius had spent the better part of a day (or night) fuming. The Prophet had come with one meal, and when the next had come he had dashed it against the wall. Now he was bitterly regretting that decision. Thin rice gruel twice a day was bad enough, he would not eat it off the grimy confines of his cell. How dare Draco. Depriving him of basic needs like this, the ungrateful whelp. Befriending muggles and mudbloods and whispering treason in the ear of Saint Potter. Lucius was disgusted, and thinking of the worst curses he knew to use on his son. Forget Unforgivables, they were only looked down on because of the need for purity of intent. Lucius knew plenty of painful curses that wouldn't see him back in this cell.

The next meal arrived, and Lucius fell upon it with an utter lack of grace. So occupied was he that he hardly noticed when his hands were wrenched behind his back and bound once again with magical cuffs. He did, however, notice when his own hands pushed him over the bowl and began to drag him out of his cell. Rice ripping from his dirty, greasy hair, Lucius barely made it to his feet as he wondered whether the enchanted cuffs always pulled prisoners in the best way to pitch them down the stairs. Probably, it seemed like the vindictive sort of magic whoever ran Azkaban would come up with. This time he did fall, though not far. Better still, the landing he fell to was large enough to make it to his feet before he was pulled down the next flight of stairs. He didn't have time to be apprehensive about what was awaiting him until he was at a small grille with cold sea air blasting through it.

"Father."

Lucius tried to peer through the grille at his son, but the outside air was too bright and cold to focus.

"Draco."

"Father, I have made a victory, I will be in charge of-"

"No, Draco, you have sunk even lower than I could have expected from you. Consorting with mudbloods and muggles, welcoming them. Planning treachery with that miserable gutter rat Potter. You are no son of mine. Do not seek me again."

Lucius tried to turn away, but found his cuffs had attached themselves to a bar near the grille. The most he could do was stand tall and pretend his son was beneath his notice.

"Please Father, you don't understand. We can control the muggles who produce magical offspring, teach them all our ways. Even squibs can produce magical children. In a few generations, there won't be a trace of muggle ideals anywhere in our society and we can create new lines with pure magical blood reaching back as far as possible."

Lucius stood away from the grill and refused to acknowledge his son. Where had it all gone wrong that the boy thought that pure blood could be manufactured? He would dirty the blood of all families and call it pure. Eventually the younger man, no longer recognizable as his blood, moved away from the grille and Lucius was pulled backward toward his cell and left in the dark with dark thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own no words, but words are considered (largely) public domain. JK Rowling owns the meaning behind most of the words I use, but has not expressed any objections i am aware of to my borrowing of those meanings.

NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS WHERE WE START TO GO UP IN RATINGS FOR VIOLENCE AND THEMES. TRIGGER WARNING FOR THOSE WITH SCHIZOPHRENIA OR OTHER CONDITIONS CAUSING PARANOID DELUSIONS.

Lucius was going mad. He hoped. He didn't know how long it had been since Draco had come to see him. Minutes, hours, days, weeks… he hadn't been fed since then, anyway. His brief moment staring at the light had made his cell seem too dark, and when his eyes adjusted Lucius could have sworn he wasn't alone. From the corner of his eye he could see a hooded and cloaked figure. A dementor? But no, when he looked at the figure it disappeared, only to appear again when he looked away. Lucius slashed out at the figure and scraped his fingers on the stone wall of his cell. Nothing there. But then, again, on the other edge of his vision. A ghost? A curse? His Lord, back again from the dead?

"My Lord…" he rasped. No reply. No movement. "My Lord, is that you?" His voice trembled slightly. "My Lord, let me serve you, we will rid the world of scum, starting with the boy." Nothing.

"My Lord, please."

The dementors gathered in one corner of the cell block. This was the best part of new prisoners, when they broke. Fear, despair, paranoia, rolling off the man in delicious waves. He wouldn't last long, but such treats never did. They took no notice of the insistent dishes and newspapers knocking against the backs of their cloaks.

The figure never moved. How long had it been there? No meals had arrived, but his stomach felt like it was dissolving his insides in anger. Had it only been a day? Had they forgotten about him? No. It was Draco. It had to be Draco. Insolent, ungrateful brat. He had told them not to feed them, cursed him to have visions. The boy wanted him mad, dead, and limited in power until he could not make his spawn face retribution for his actions with the despicable muggle-loving new order.

Lucius would not let him. He would not let the boy win.

Lucius' stomach was no longer complaining. He had slept at some point, he thought. He must have, because there were now two figures, and they were laughing at him. Not loudly, but not stopping. Never stopping. And never letting him look directly at them. Never moving, except when he turned his head. He thought he had seen one twitch once, but couldn't be sure. There! Another. How had it got in? He turned to look at it and found all three in front of him. Lucius screamed, and the laughter only grew louder. He lunged forward to throttle one, but his hands only touched stone, falling to scrape his knees under his prison robes. Just as suddenly, all three were gone. Lucius hunched into a corner and began to sob.

Draco was roused early by an owl requesting his presence at the ministry. He apparated in and took the elevator to a floor he wasn't familiar with, filled with minor departments and it seemed populated by clerks. It wasn't long before he was hailed by one, and he strode over to the desk.

"What's the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but there have been some… anomalies in the readings from the elder Mr Malfoy. If you would look over here?" the man indicated a thin scroll with a quill noting down endless numbers. He unrolled the scroll almost a foot. "If you see here, just under a week ago we were seeing normal readings, note lots of ones, twos and threes. These indicate that Mr Malfoy was stable and in fact holding up rather well under the effects of the dementors' presence. The readings were only taken every three hours in this case, to alert us of any major changes. If you look here," and there he pointed about an inch down the scroll, "you will see a major change in the emotional readings, moving straight up to five and sixes, and heart readings. Soon after, we estimate about two days, the physical readings jump up to eight and above. Currently," and he pointed at the last few inches of parchment, "readings are being taken every ten minutes and the prisoner appears to be extremely hypertonic and hypertensive – that is, dehydrated and most likely panicked. We wanted to give you the opportunity to see the readings and give your recommendation as power of attorney."

Draco paused, looking at the numbers on the scroll. He had assumed the readings were incremented in a scale of ten, but the numbers now seemed to range from thirteen to forty. He couldn't reconcile those numbers with his cold, collected father. "Is there a way you can add calming potions to his food, extra water?"

"It's generally against regulations unless medically necessary, but we did try to add a very mild sedative to his food the last two days. It hasn't seemed to make a difference. We think he may be refusing food."

"What if I pay a healer to move restorative potions into his system magically?"

"No healers are allowed on the island; their magic relies too heavily on compassion for the patient and rarely works the same once there."

"And if I go? Out of familial duty?"

"We can't guarantee it would work, and you would need approval from the DMLE and the minister."

"Set up an appointment."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise, my work here is purely for fun.

NOTE: I'm very sorry to have kept you all waiting a week. I have been suffering writers block, as I have decided don't like where this story is going. I feel like I rushed the storyline too much. Right now I can only see a couple of chapters left for a natural conclusion. I will do my best to get these out of the way this week and move onto something a bit longer.

CONTINUED NOTE: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE AND PARANOID DELUSION.

Draco stepped off his boat and onto the remote island, renewing his warming charm against the chill of the day. Behind him, DMLE head Amelia bones stepped from the boat also. "Onwards, Mr Malfoy." She informed him, opening the outer entrance. They stepped inside and took a moment to look at the provided map to the cells. A tap from Amelia's wand and their destination was highlighted in red; another and they appeared as a pair of blue dots near the entrance. "I would understand if you chose to turn back, Mr Malfoy," Amelia stated, challenging Draco with her eyes. "Azkaban is not an easy place to be." Draco returned her gaze and straightened himself. "It may not be easy, Madam, but it is necessary. I will not abandon family." _Not like my father._ He added silently, before striding toward the stairs.

On the route to Lucius' cell, they saw very few dementors. The reason for this became apparent as they reached the cell. Dementors were piled three thick against the cell wall, spilled food and newspapers littering the floor behind them. Draco wrinkled his nose at the mess, not being sure whether the dark patches on the food were dust from the stones or mould from being left there several days. He decided not to look too hard. Madam Bones came up behind him and he heard a sharp, shocked intake of breath. "I take it then that this is not a common occurrence." Draco drawled, trying to hide his own shock. No wonder his father was having trouble with this mess. "Rest assured I will press for an investigation of this matter, Madam, imagine if another prisoner were to escape due to this improper allocation of resources." Amelia cast her patronus at the dementors and watched them scatter. "I shall see to it personally."

Lucius felt a lightening of the awful pressure in his head and looked up just in time to see two new figures enter the cell. These ones didn't stand and stare at him though, they moved toward him. Assassins! He lunged forward and caught one by the shoulders, bearing them to the ground. He was now able to see the face. The assassin had his son's face. Polyjuice, to destroy his reputation! But no, it may well be his son, come to kill him and remove the old values completely, show his dedication to Potter and the new order. Lucius hissed, and began to throttle the intruder. Not for long though, as conjured ropes bound him and he was pulled, struggling, to the wall of his cell. The other assassin had him at wandpoint. "Do it!" he hissed at them, struggling to get free, to attack.

The assassin with Draco's face, or Draco himself, pointed his wand at Lucius and began muttering spells. Lucius felt strangely empty, then began to lose consciousness.

"Hold him a bit longer; this will be easier with him bound." Draco advised. He pulled several potion vials from the pockets of his robes and banished the contents one by one into his father's stomach. Lastly, he cast a quick scourgify on the man. "Release him." He commanded, and Amelia obliged. Draco levitated the man to what passed as a bed in the bare cell. "Let's go." He stalked toward the exit, pushing down his emotions until he could release them in private. It would not do to appear weak in front of Madam Bones, much less the dementors. For now, at least, his father would be safe. Three day doses of nourishing potions, hydration boosters and a calming draught would be enough to bring him back to health, provided the man ate from now on. No reason he shouldn't, with the dementors patrolling again and the food deliveries no longer interrupted. He had done his duties as a son.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the world or characters of Harry Potter. JK Rowling has that honour and privilege, and the woman deserves it. Look at how generous she is, letting us play here.

WARNING: SELF HARM

AN: Final chapter, working on something new

Lucius woke slowly. He looked around himself, but couldn't see anything in the gloom of his cell. The assassins had left, and taken the cloaked figures with them. Had they killed him? He bit into his own hand, hard. Pain and blood. Probably not dead then. But still in Azkaban. And feeling as though he had eaten recently.

It must have been his son that had cursed him, he realised. Some sort of paranoia curse, brought Lucius to his knees and then brought a Ministry official to see him, declare him a danger to society and keep him locked away. A decidedly Slytherin move, but not one that Lucius would let the boy get away with. After all, two could play at that game. Lucius could be a danger to himself instead, get a nice, cushy room at St. Mungo's and make a full recovery. He could get a Ministry certified statement that he wasn't responsible for his actions, not being sound of mind and all. He could be reinstated as head of his family even before the period of his Azkaban sentence had passed, if he played his cards right.

But how to do it? He wasn't left with many options left in this dark, bare cell. He supposed he could fall into his food, but that was wholly unbecoming of a Malfoy. He could bloody himself on the rough stone of the cell, but it may not produce a severe enough response and could be remedied too quickly… Suddenly, inspiration struck. Lucius began to pull out his long, dirty hair, smiling.

Draco was woken in the middle of the night by an elf announcing the sudden appearance of a ministry employee. He told the elf to let the man into the parlour while he dressed. He tied his cravat with more force than was strictly necessary and strode down the stairs. What could be so important that it couldn't wait until morning?

The clerk he had spoken to a few days earlier stood in the entranceway, fiddling with a hat and looking toward the stairs. He started when he saw Draco descend. The man was obviously anxious, but Draco was in no mood to humour him.

"What was so important that you saw fit to wake me?"

"Your father, Mr Malfoy, he-"

"Has he gotten worse again? Surely this can wait until daylight; Madam Bones is unlikely to be receptive at this hour."

"Oh, erm. Mr Malfoy, it's not-"

Draco levelled the man with this best glare, and watched with satisfaction as he sputtered and stammered to a stop.

"Spit it out then."

"Mr Malfoy… Your father… we believe he has taken his own life."

Draco started and goggled at the man. He must have been mistaken. His father would never stoop so low as to make an attempt on his own life. The man would kill others with barely a thought, but his own pure blood and Malfoy legacy could never be thrown away so pettily.

"There's been a mistake."

"Regardless, we thought you might want to come with us to confirm…"

Draco made a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat, but gathered his coat from beside the door and strode toward the edge of the wards, forcing the harried clerk to jog to catch up. Draco made an educated guess and apparated to the docking point for Azkaban boats, where he was greeted by a mediwizard and Madam Amelia Bones. A few seconds behind him, the clerk appeared.

"Shall we leave?" Draco asked tersely, making his way to the boats gently bobbing at the dock. He didn't look back, afraid to display the fear and tension in his face. His father could not be gone.

Draco stepped slowly into his father's cell, willing his eyes not to adjust to the gloom. This was made unnecessary though when Madam Bones cast a soft _lumos_ to dispel the shadows. Everyone's eyes were drawn to the figure on the floor.

Lucius' head was bleeding, the majority of his hair missing. His eyes were bugged, broken vessels staining them. An eerie smile was plastered on his lips, and one of his knees was drawn toward his chest. A rope of matted, twisted hair was strung tight around his neck and that foot. It was obvious that Lucius had used the strength of his own legs and his spasms to draw the rope tighter around his neck.

Draco allowed himself a sharp intake of breath. He wanted to sit, to scream, to vomit, to beat his father bloody for leaving him to deal with this alone. But he was a Malfoy, the head of his house and duty bound to uphold the honour of his name. Instead he nodded to the mediwizard, who cast a few diagnostic spells on the body.

"Dead." He stated. Draco nodded again. "I confirm that this… thing used to be my father. " He turned to the party. "Was that all you needed? I would quite like to get home."


End file.
